


End of Pretend

by Fedoragirl



Category: Fall Out Boy, Pete Wentz - Fandom, Young Blood Chronicles - Fandom, andy hurley - Fandom, joe trohman - Fandom, patrick stump - Fandom
Genre: Young Blood Chronicles, fall out boy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:54:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fedoragirl/pseuds/Fedoragirl
Summary: What would have happened if Where Did The Party Go never happened? This is a much darker tale as to what happened than the one you saw and know.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This might be a lil violent

He wandered up to the road, waving his hand frantically trying to catch someone's attention. He apparently had. A young man pulled over his Truck, getting out with his phone to greet him. Patrick took hesitant steps toward him, almost like a stray cat, before allowing the man to call 911. Slowly, his friends managed to limp, sprint, or stalk over, one by one greeting Patrick with a hug or a pat on the back. Police cars and ambulances came, their sirens screaming until the stopped just in front of the truck the boys had been resting in. Paramedics took one look at each of them before hurrying to get them into their ambulances. Pete and Joe could walk onto their ambulances, able to be stitched up temporarily until they arrive at the hospital, while Andy and Patrick were forced to lay gurneys. Andy grew tired quickly, falling to sleep in a manner of seconds. Patrick wouldn't let himself be laid down, however. The memories flooded back to him of torture and pain, hallucinations dancing along his visions of demons and masochistic girls until one of the nurses in the ambulance covered his face with a mask, pumping anesthesia medication into his lungs until his tired eyes and sore body were made to rest for a while.

Pete refused to leave Patrick's side for days after that. He had gone 40% deaf in one ear, and had minor injuries, so the hospital just gave him a hearing aid and some morphine pills and let him stay beside Patrick. Joe had to use crutches; he had been slashed in the leg - and Andy wasn't allowed to leave the hospital until his stomach wound healed up and he ate something. 

Pete though was the most emotional mess of the four of them. He could easily move from room to room, and he had a lot of free time on his hands. He stayed by Patrick's side for most of the time though, since the sweet little singer got the most of it. Missing organs, eating said missing organs, getting his hand chopped off and then shoved into a hook, and the drug abuse that had been forced onto him, it was no wonder he had been asleep for four days straight. 

Pete, Joe, and Andy were forced to go home before Patrick had recovered. Once he had recovered, however, the three boys and his wife had decided it was best for him to spend some time in the mental hospital. 

And this, my friends, is the story of what happens when he escapes


	2. M A N   I    A

Nurses and Doctors stalked past the doors, sometimes carrying trays of various pills or food, sometimes it would be clipboards, or they would escort people. Patrick looked around his room, the walls, floor, bedding, clothes, desk, and cabinets all gray.  
Everything was gray anymore.  
He looked to the corner, staring at the man standing there. He looked him over as he disappeared and got closer, whispering to him, "I can get you out of here, Patrick. Just let me in..."  
The click-clack of heels stopped abruptly at his door, opening it, "Well Mister Stump it looks like-"  
But he was gone.  
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  
♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡  
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Andy, can you pick me up please?" He whispered into the phone, his voice shaky, "I-I'm scared."  
"Sure, sure Patrick, where are you?"  
"I'm two miles away from the hospital, please come, they tried to hurt me, I ran away!"  
"I'll be there in twenty minutes, just stay there, okay?"  
"O-Okay, thank you, Andy." Patrick whispered as he hung up the phone, taking off his sunglasses and hissing at a nearby bystander who had been watching his conversation. The poor boy shrieked and ran away at the sight of the golden eyes boring into his soul. Patrick sat down on a bus bench, crossing one leg over the other as he looked over the road in front of him, cracking his knuckles. He looked down to where his left hand would be, scowling at the stump. He pushed his sunglasses on, watching the cars go by silently until Andy's SUV pulled up in front of Patrick, the driver's side door popping open. The drummer jogged over to Patrick, bombarding him with worried questions. He guided Patrick to the car, buckling him in for him like a mother would to her baby.  
The demon just kept smiling sadistically.  
Andy hopped into the driver's side of the car, starting the engine. He sighed, patting Patrick's knee, "I'm glad you're okay. I'll call Pete and Joe tomorrow, yeah? For tonight you can just stay at my place. Elisa ghosted all of us, I dunno where she is, but your old house has been sold..."

He frowned, though realistically the demon inside of him took sick pleasure in the news, as it broke Patrick down more and gave him better control. Taking on a teary-voiced tone, he whimpered out, "Sh-she's gone?"  
"Yeah...yeah, she's gone, Patrick. I'm so sorry..."

Patrick started pretending to cry, letting out little whimpers and sobs every once in a while as they drove toward Andy's home, peering up at the elder male between cracks in his fingers. A few blocks from his home he straightened up, shifting his demeanor to look more relaxed and calm as they halted to a stop and Andy set the car in park.  
"We're here, are you alright, 'Trick?"  
The demon sniffled and nodded, wiping his eyes again before climbing out of the car. Andy locked his SUV, placing a hand on Patrick's back to comfort the small man. He let him go inside first, turning and locking the door behind him.   
He wandered straight for the drummer's gun collection, grabbing a silencer gun, loading it as quiet as a mouse, before spinning around and shooting Andy right in the head with it.

His next moves were deliberate and careful; he scrubbed the gun with salt water, then grabbed Andy, laying his remains in the bathtub. He undressed him, then coated his body in bleach, sandpapering off his fingerprints and shaving his beard. Once Andy was clean of any DNA Patrick may have left on him, Patrick re-dressed him in new clothes, burning the ones he had been killed in. He laid the body on the floor by the front door. The front door was coated with his blood, so the man took the executive decision over himself to make the crime look like a burglary gone wrong. He let a sickly smile take over his mouth, yellow eyes peering around his house. 

Patrick summoned leather gloves, slipping them on to cover his prints. He grabbed a vase, taking it to the bathroom to break it before returning with its broken pieces, laying them out carefully around the coffee table it used to sit on. He slipped the gun into a plastic bag, setting it aside for later. Next, he set a table on its side, breaking off one of its legs, throwing it across the room. He took anything valuable he could find; golden records, trophies, phone, wallet, tablets, and pieces of art. He made them disappear one by one. He then continued to make his mess, throwing pillows about the room, plates, cups, dishes broken in the kitchen. 

He set in a load of laundry and broke all the security cameras, then deleted any footage of him and 5 hours before. He took the gun in the plastic bag, wrote "Andy" on it in foreign handwriting, then made it vanish. He whispered something over Andy's corpse that was growing cold, then disappeared.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━  
♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡  
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The next day Patrick was in the hospital again. No doctors or nurses had remembered nor even noticed he was missing. In the commons area, the news was on.  
"Brendon Urie of Panic! At the Disco was convicted of the murder of Andrew John Hurley, and sentenced to the electric chair, due to overwhelming evidence suggesting he had broken into Hurley's house last night and attempted to rob him, but when Hurley arrived home, Urie shot him in the head and ran."

He smiled twistedly.


End file.
